“We are not accusing you in any manner,” said Jane, her voice a little strained. She worked so hard to help everyone feel better when she herself was in mourning.
“You accused one of the men I hired.” His eyes fell on Elizabeth.
Before Elizabeth could reply with something scathing, Mary interrupted. “It was not, in fact, one of the men you hired. You brought eight men, and we saw them at the start. This man, while he tried to imitate their dress, did not quite match the others, and was an impostor.”
Elizabeth and Jane spent several minutes reassuring Mr. Collins that he was at no fault, that he had been taken advantage of by the criminal, and that they placed no blame on him whatsoever. Finally, once he was properly appeased, they assembled all of Mr. Collins’s men and the household servants outside, underneath the warm, languid sun. Mary was the only one who was able to give a decent description of the man. But besides the four sisters, not a single person had seen the man who had moved the chair, and no one knew his identity.
“This chair is not even one that I have sold,” declared Mr. Collins. “Return it to the house at once.”
Eventually everyone was back in their places—Elizabeth, Kitty, and Jane carefully sorting and labeling the mourning rings, choosing which would go to which families, since their father had given only minimal details in his will. Mary tried to help them, but despite having solved the mystery, her heart continued to pound, and she could not focus on the rings. She returned to the funeral march on the pianoforte.
“How did you infer what happened?” asked Kitty with wonder.
“It seemed to be the only logical conclusion,” Mary replied. “First there was the servant I did not recognize, then a noise from outside which distracted us, and then he removed the chair, and not long after we noticed the mourning rings gone.” She felt warmth inside, a joy at being of assistance. Yet the fact that they had not found the thief troubled her. Where was he now? And what crime would he commit next?
After a few minutes, Mr. Collins entered the room with four of the men. Mary was surprised when Mr. Collins spoke to her rather than her sisters.
“Miss Bennet, I find it necessary to address you at this time.”
She stopped playing and rested her hands on her lap. “You have my attention, Mr. Collins.”
“It is quite unfortunate, especially in light of you clearing up the matter of the mourning rings, but I need to remove the pianoforte.”
Mary stared at him, disbelief on her face. “But I…but I need it.”
“However, I do not need it. The esteemed Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who has always been so generous to our family, recently gifted us with our own instrument. It is a much finer pianoforte and should arrive within a few weeks.”
Mary did not move from the bench. Her hands instinctively reached out to the pianoforte, and she gripped the instrument as if holding on for dear life.
“I have found someone willing to pay forty pounds for this pianoforte as it is rather old and does not have the best sound. But, as you are family, if you are willing to pay thirty-five pounds, you can keep it and take it with you.”
Thirty-five pounds. The amount was impossible. At the moment, she had only a few pounds of her own. Mrs. Bennet’s remaining fortune was five thousand pounds, which, invested in the four per cents, gave them only two hundred pounds a year to live off of, a drastic decrease from the two thousand pounds a year provided by Mr. Bennet. When her mother died, Mary would only inherit one thousand pounds, which would give her only forty pounds a year with which to maintain herself. She could not possibly purchase the pianoforte, no matter how dear.
“Let go of the instrument, Miss Mary,” directed Mr. Collins.
Her fingers tightened further. She could not let go of this pianoforte that she played for hours every day—this instrument that made her life tolerable even in the hardest of times.
“But Mr. Collins,” said Jane, “surely the pianoforte could wait two days to be taken.”
“Lady Catherine de Bourgh told me that it was best to arrange all of my affairs as quickly as possible when I arrived, and I intend to do so.”
“Can you not see that Mary is distraught?” said Elizabeth. “And you claim to be a gentleman.”
“I suppose Miss Bennet’s unseemly behaviour may be excused due to the loss of Mr. Bennet. If it were possible, I would delay the removal of the pianoforte, but I have only hired the servants for today.”
Mary pressed her lips firmly together, determined not to succumb to an outward display of emotion. The pianoforte was the only thing she had found in the past week to keep her sorrow in check. Yet she would find a way to move forward without it, even as Mr. Collins cast her out of Longbourn, adrift and without anchor, into the world.
“I will do no more to embarrass you, cousin,” said Mary. She stood and collected the music sitting on the pianoforte, then sorted it into two piles, one large, one small.
She handed Mr. Collins the larger pile. “This music belongs to the estate and is now yours.” She picked up the smaller pile. “But this music is mine, and I will bring it with me.”
Ignoring her sisters’ attempts to comfort her, Mary turned and marched out of the room with whatever semblance of dignity she had left.
Chapter Two
“HERTFORDHSHIRE—A funeral will be held today for Mr. Bennet of Longbourn, in the town of Meryton.”
–The Morning Post, London, August 4, 1813
Mary set aside her book of sermons. She rubbed her fingers under her eyes, trying to keep herself awake. The clock read four in the morning, and the candles serving vigil around
